


I Lose You in Degrees

by bitterleafs



Category: Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Developing Relationship, Dick Grayson is Nightwing, Fluff and Angst, Jason Todd is Red Hood, Jason Todd is Robin, M/M, Pining, Racism, Romani Dick Grayson, Slow Burn, both are bad at feelings, one small instance of
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-23
Updated: 2021-01-12
Packaged: 2021-03-08 02:09:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 12,846
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26617966
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bitterleafs/pseuds/bitterleafs
Summary: Jason and Dick were two moons locked in a co-orbital tug-of-war with each other. They moved though life seemingly on a collision course, sharing brief moments when they came together, only to bounce back out of reach once again.
Relationships: Dick Grayson/Jason Todd
Comments: 117
Kudos: 176





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some chapters are short and sweet like this one and others are much longer because I have zero consistency.
> 
> In Degrees - Foals

They say you should never meet your heroes, a phrase before now Jason had always thought was bullshit. He didn’t see how it could be bad to meet someone like Robin: Boy wonder. He was a _legend_ to the kids of Gotham. How could meeting him be a bad thing? Batman, by contrast, had always seemed unimpressive to him. A man dressed as a bat, fighting crime had been more odd than intimidating or inspiring to Jason. But Robin? Robin flew through the skies laughing, unafraid of anything. He was everything Jason wasn’t, but wanted to be.

He was ecstatic when he found out Dick Grayson was the former Robin, _two_ of his idols rolled into one. His dad had taken him to see the Flying Graysons once, one of the few times he wasn’t such a deadbeat father. Sure the tickets were stolen but it hadn’t mattered one bit after the show started. Dick was the most amazing thing he had ever seen, soaring as if he defied gravity itself. He looked so happy as he flipped and swung, dancing through the air. He gave Jason hope that life could be better than it was, that he could have a life that was happy and free.

Yet there he was, having met Dick Grayson—the first Robin—and suddenly the phrase hadn't seemed so wrong. Maybe _met_ was a strong word. He encountered Nightwing on a drug bust and hadn’t even known who he _really_ was until he asked Alfred about it later. Nightwing had been less than happy with Jason, all but yelling at him about how he had screwed up before storming off.

What a great first impression, his hero hated him.

Dick had visited the cave the next day to talk to Bruce, while Jason hid near the top of the stairs listening in. But _talk_ was an understatement. Saying it was only a talk was like saying there had been a small fire when entire buildings had been razed to the ground.

“How could you do this to me Bruce?” The former Boy Wonder’s voice bounced along the cave walls, amplifying his rage. “Robin was _mine!_ ”

The words resounded in his head long after Jason retreated from his hiding spot, unable to listen further. Did Dick want Robin back? Was Bruce going to fire him? He wasn’t as good as Dick, maybe he was just a temporary replacement. This whole thing had been too good to be true, maybe this was the other shoe _finally_ dropping. He felt nauseous.

How had he been so _stupid_ to think otherwise?

Jason had to go back out, prove that he could fix the drug bust he messed up the night before. Prove he could do _something_ right. Prove to himself, to Bruce, to Dick that he could do this but when he spotted Nightwing sitting on the roof of the warehouse, his determination started to crack. He was sure Dick was going to tell him he wasn’t needed and send him back home.

“I figured you’d show up.”

“I just want a chance to fix it, I _can_ do this,” Jason said, just as much to convince himself as to convince his predecessor.

The grin he got in response confused him, was Nightwing trying to let him down easily?

“I know, I thought we could take them together.”

“Together?” he echoed lamely.

“Yeah, of course!” His predecessor stood up and Jason finally noticed the box Dick had as he handed it to him. “But first, this is for you.”

Stunned, he took the box and slowly opened it. Inside was a Robin uniform, he looked back up at Nightwing questioningly.

“Seems like you’ll have more use for this than I will, once you grow into it.” Dick’s smile turned hesitant, almost embarrassed. “My number is in there too, if you ever need someone to talk to. Since, well, Bruce isn’t really the best at that.”

Was this... Nightwing’s blessing? He hadn’t expected anything like this. He stood there awkwardly as he looked at the box, unsure of how to respond. “Thanks,” he finally managed to say. It felt insufficient, but better words escaped him. He couldn’t even begin to explain how much this meant to him.

Maybe meeting his hero hadn't been such a bad thing after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have three chapters finished so far and none of them are the second one, please help me.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shoutout to the Waynes server for all helping and encouraging me! Without them I would not have finished writing this chapter anytime soon, let alone today.

Jason’s movements had always been rooted in survival. Brutal, inflicting the most damage possible to end the fight quickly or at least buy an opening to get away. Drawn out fights were dangerous, got you dead. So he hit hard and he hit fast with little concern for endurance.

But fighting like that wasn't how Batman and Robin did things.

Learning to fight how Bruce wanted meant holding back, being on the defensive. Meant conserving your energy and keeping your cool. The goal was to inflict the least amount of damage possible while still _taking_ the least amount of damage.

Learning to fight like Bruce wanted meant moving and fighting like the original Boy Wonder, something that was easier said than done.

Dick was a creature of motion, never lingering in the same place for long. He was made for flying, made for slipping just out of reach, it was something so innate to him, allowing him to dance gracefully through combat. Every spin, flip, and kick flowed into the next as if choreographed.

Six months of training could never compare to something so inherent but that never stopped Bruce from comparing them anyway.

Dick was _faster_ , dodged _more_ attacks, _never_ messed up that jump. He _always_ knew what to do. Jason was too rash, lacked finesse. He could never _fly_ —not like Dick—the laws of gravity had too tight a hold on him. It didn't matter that they were different people or that Dick had started his training with Bruce at an earlier age, didn't matter that Dick's acrobatic skills were without peer.

The only difference that mattered was the fact that Jason kept failing to measure up.

It didn’t help that Bruce and Dick couldn’t even be in the same room without a massive fight ending with Dick storming off for weeks, sometimes months, at a time. Dick’s fury was a raging wildfire and Bruce was the spark that never failed to set him off. As far as Jason could tell Dick hated their mentor but somehow he was _still_ so flawless, so perfect.

The shine of his hero was quickly becoming tarnished with each passing fight Jason witnessed.

It was one of those rare days that Dick was in Gotham, made rarer still because Bruce was out on business until late, leaving just the two of them alone in the cave. Jason trained as Dick worked on something at the batcomputer. He watched Dick work between punches feeling curious, annoyed, and wary all at once. 

Why was he here?

How long until he stormed off after yet another fight?

Sure, Bruce was out for _now_ but he’d be back. It was only a matter of time.

He heard Dick let out a frustrated sigh as he stood up from the computer and began to stretch and curiosity finally won out. “What are you doing?” he asked, and if he sounded a little annoyed? Well, Dick could just deal with it.

“B asked me to run some numbers for the case the two of you have been working on,” the older boy replied, letting out a pleased sound when his back popped.

“You good at math or something?”

Dick gave him a lazy grin, “Or something.”

Of fucking course he was good at math, was there anything he _wasn’t_ good at? Jason didn’t know why he kept being surprised. He scowled, letting the silence lapse back between the two of them as he went back to punching the training dummy.

Dick watched him for a minute before asking, “Wanna spar?”

Jason paused, considering. He didn’t really want to spend time with Dick but sparring would be good practice, _especially_ against Dick. Jason could see firsthand how he stacked up against him for once, and if he actually managed to beat him? Even better.

“Yeah, alright.”

“Great! Lemme change real quick.” Dick actually bounced on his heels, looking excited. Jason rolled his eyes. “It’s been awhile since I’ve seen you in action, I’m curious to see how you’re improving.”

They circled each other for a beat and Jason realized Dick was waiting for him to make the first move, so make the first move he did. Letting his frustration fuel his movements, he quickly feigned left and then punched from the right. Dick slid easily out of reach and the punch missed. He changed his strategy and tried again. Dick dodged. Try again.

And again.

Dick dodged every single one.

"Gotta slow down and focus if you want to hit me, Jay."

The advice was genuine, no hint of taunting, and Jason swallowed his pride as he tried to follow it.

He finally landed a punch and the fight began in earnest.

They traded blows evenly, dancing across the mat. Dick favoured his kicks when he wasn’t fighting defensively so Jason adjusted his strategy to try and remove that option. He dodged kicks and aimed to get Dick off his feet, trying to force the fight into his favour.

The first time Jason managed to sweep Dick’s legs out from under him, the bastard recovered into a somersault. The second time, he rolled away and back to his feet before Jason could follow up.

They began moving to the edges of the mat and beyond as Jason did his best to corner Dick, taking away the room to kick or dodge as effectively. Dick used the change in terrain in his favour, gaining high ground and Jason followed suit. He might not be as good at flying but he still knew how to flip into kicks, how to dodge as he spun through the air.

The fight ultimately ended with an overly optimistic lunge that Dick turned against him, using his momentum to flip him up and over, landing flat on his back as the wind rushed out of his lungs with an _oof_.

Jason blinked up at Dick, who grinned as he peered down at him. “That was great, Little Wing!” He reached to help Jason up, grin slightly diminishing when the offered hand got slapped away, Jason refusing the help.

“I’m not little,” Jason said with a scowl, “and I _lost_.” He was stupid for getting up any hope that he could have won. Stupid for forgetting Dick was perfect.

“You almost had me there a few times!” Dick attempted to reassure him, “You saw how I fought and cleverly tried to make me fight on your own terms.”

“I guess.”

“You’ve only been fighting for what, a year now? You’ve come a long way since I last saw you fight,” he said, ruffling Jason’s hair. “I’m impressed.”

Jason pushed Dick away from him as his stomach did an odd little flip. He was surprised to hear Dick praise him, surprised to hear someone thought he did good. Bruce rarely ever said he did good, never said he was impressed. Jason wanted to think Dick was just patronizing him, but he looked so earnest that he didn’t know _what_ to think.

“Thanks,” he mumbled, glancing away and refusing to make eye contact.

“I noticed your form on your kicks were a little off though, want to practice them some more? I can show you some new ones too.”

Jason shrugged noncommittally. “I wouldn’t mind using some of those annoying kicks of yours against the rogues gallery.”

Dick beamed at him, taking it as a yes.

They practiced together for a while, Dick giving tips and being genuinely encouraging the whole time. It was such a flip from how training was with Bruce that Jason didn’t know how to respond to any of it. The fact that it was Dick who was being nice to him only messed with his head more.

Why did Dick have to be so _nice?_ Why couldn’t he just let Jason hate him?

Eventually, Dick had to go back to work on the calculations he was doing for Bruce and they stopped. By the time Jason had cleaned up and changed, he found the older already hunched over at the desk, legs folded under him in the chair as he worked.

“Have you even eaten at all?” Jason asked. As far as he had seen, Dick hadn’t done a single thing except work since he came over in the morning, the project taking up all of his focus. The only break he’d taken was to spar.

Dick absently waved him off, “In a bit.”

With a frown, Jason went back up to the manor alone. When Dick still hadn’t come up after Jason finished his own dinner, he grabbed his homework and a plate of food, descending down into the cave once again.

“Eat,” he said as he placed the plate in front of Dick.

“Oh.” Dick blinked at the plate and then up at Jason, a smile curling up at the corners of his lips. “Thanks.”

“Whatever,” Jason shrugged, “Alfred had me bring it down.”

He spun on his heels before Dick could think to question him on the validity of that and walked away. Setting himself up further down the desk, he started his homework and they worked in comfortable silence. Jason glanced up a few times to check if Dick was actually eating and a few more times just to watch him as he worked. It was the first time Jason had ever seen the teen so still and quiet.

When Bruce got back, Jason held his breath as he counted down to the inevitable fireworks show.

It never came.

Dick greeted Bruce and went back to working, saying he’d let him know when he finished. Bruce nodded and walked away satisfied. When Dick finally finished, he simply told Bruce his findings, said to let him know if they needed anything else, and gathered his things to leave.

The last thing Dick had said, with a grin and another ruffle of Jason’s hair, was “See you later, Little Wing.”

Jason stared at him in shock.

It was the first time he could recall that Dick hadn’t left in a fit of rage.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To everyone who's been reading this: I love you and thank you for thinking my writing is interesting <3

Curled up in bed and lost in a book, Jason almost missed hearing the quiet thump that interrupted the night’s silence. As he strained to listen, wondering what caused it, he heard the soft sounds of footsteps too light to be Bruce’s make their way across the roof. Jumping out of bed, he grabbed his heaviest textbook—better safe than sorry—and crawled out the window to investigate.

He definitely hadn’t expected to find his predecessor there. Dick still didn’t come around often, yet there he was, feet swinging idly off the edge with his head pillowed on his arms as he laid on the roof looking at the stars. Under the soft light of the moon, you could almost mistake him for a normal teenager. It was a strange sight, so different and subdued from the usual larger-than-life, energetic teen Jason was used to seeing. He stood there frozen, textbook still held slightly aloft, unsure of what to say or do. Unwilling to disturb the silence.

“You planning to attack me with that, or did you need help with homework?” There was a smile on Dick’s lips but the words lacked his usual mirth. The disparity was jarring and Jason cataloged the _wrongness_ of the smile.

“I thought you were someone else.”

There’s a quiet hum of a response and nothing else.

“Didn’t know you were here,” he tried again.

“Had business in town, Alfred suggested I stay the night.”

Jason snorted, “You mean he demanded you stay.”

“Yeah, pretty much.” Some warmth seeped back into Dick’s voice, his fondness for Alfred outweighing his austerity.

They lapsed back into an awkward silence, Jason shifting his weight as he eyed the older teen. The swing of Dick’s legs was a hollow imitation of his usual perpetual state of motion and he looked almost morose, lost in thought as he stared up at the sky. Jason had only known angry Dick Grayson and cheerful Dick Grayson. He had no idea what to do with a depressed one.

They both broke the silence at the same time.

“I’ll leave—”

“Are you gonna sit—”

“Oh,” Jason faltered, surprised. “I mean—I don’t mind staying, if you want me to?”

“We might as well catch up since you came all the way up here,” Dick said, looking up at him for the first time. The corners of his lips curled up into a sheepish smile, seeming to finally realize he’d been less than talkative. Jason noted that the smile, however small, seemed like a real one as he sat down next to him. “Anything you wanna talk about?”

“Well... galas are the worst, Bruce is difficult, and my English teacher is a moron,” he started, “but honestly? I’m a little curious what has the famously bubbly Dick Grayson looking like someone kicked his puppy.” He playfully kicked at one of Dick’s legs.

Dick stilled, a fleeting look of surprise flickering across his face and the renewed silence made Jason regret asking. His fingers fidgeted nervously with the book in his lap, wishing he could snatch all the words out of the air and shove them back into his mouth. It had been stupid to ask. Why would Dick confide in him? It’s not like they were all that close.

“You getting soft on me, Little Wing?” Dick teased, stalling.

“I’m a man of hidden depths, _Dickie_.”

Dick hummed, “I guess you are.”

“It’s... the anniversary of my parents’ death,” he admitted after a moment, turning his gaze back to the sky. “I’ve been alive longer without them now than I was with them.”

“Oh. Um, sorry.” Jason couldn’t remember what you’re supposed to say to something like that. _Was_ there something to say? He missed his mom, knew what losing her had felt like, his fingers could trace the hole in his life she had left behind. But it seemed different for Dick, whose parents were actually able to take care of him instead of the other way around. He wondered what it would have been like if his mom had been present in his life, instead of hidden behind glassy eyes and hazy smiles. He searched for something better to say before deciding to ask, “What were they like?”

“They were... well they weren’t perfect, but they were _mine_ and they loved me,” Dick whispered, like it was a secret, something he’d never spoken aloud before. Maybe he hadn’t. Bruce would never admit his own parents had faults, maybe Dick thought he wasn’t allowed to reveal that his did.

Jason, however, knew intimately that death couldn’t erase a person’s shortcomings and sins.

Dick laid in thoughtful silence for a bit, trying to find the words that best distilled the things he loved about his parents. “My daj had a desk job before the circus came through town. She saw my dat’s act and ended up going back every night just to watch him fly. Said she fell in love at first sight, with him and with flying. And when the circus left town, so did she.” There was a ghost of a smile on Dick’s lips as he spoke and his legs resumed their swinging as if unable to remain still a second longer. “She moved like she had been doing it all her life, though. I don’t think there was anything she couldn’t do if she put her mind to it. Stubborn to a fault.

“My dat was born in the circus, never wanted any other life for himself. He loved every moment of it, especially the traveling. He collected stories like souvenirs from every town they visited, shared them with whoever would listen. After a show, he’d tell them as everyone gathered around the campfire. He even had stories to scold me with when I got in trouble,” Dick let out a soft laugh. “He never wrote any of them down though, I wish I could remember more of them.”

Jason studied him, watching as different emotions flickered across his face as he spoke. Whether Dick realized it or not the things he was sharing about his parents were things Jason could see in him, little fragments of his parents that had embedded themselves into his own personality. He wondered what other ways they had shaped the man Dick was becoming without them.

Did he get his temper from his mom? Was that his dad’s easy smile?

“They taught me everything they knew about flying. Daj always said in a past life I must have been a bird, that I was born to fly. She called me her petite merle—little robin.”

Jason flinched as dread crawled up his spine. “Is _that_ where Robin came from?”

“Everything about Robin was a tribute to them, the names, the colours. It was my way of honouring them and getting the justice they deserved.”

“I had no idea,” Jason whispered. It was disappointment, it was regret, it was an apology.

Dick gave him a sardonic smile, “Of course not, why would you? B wouldn’t consider it relevant.”

“I... thought you hated me, when you said Robin was yours. I thought you just didn’t want to be replaced.”

Dick sat up, frowning as he tried to remember when he said that. The frown morphed into grimace when he remembered the day in the cave. “You heard that?”

“You weren’t exactly quiet.”

“No I—I didn’t hate you, not really. What I hated was that you were Robin and no one _told_ me.” He looked down at the garden that sprawled below them as he struggled to put his feelings into words. “I had to find out myself, the night we met, and it crushed me. I hated that Bruce didn’t even care.”

There was no variation of words Jason could string together that would make things better. He was Robin now, and without realizing, had stolen that from Dick. Knowingly, Bruce had given something that hadn’t been his to give. The knowledge of that was a weighted silence that fell between them. Jason sat there staring down at the book in his lap, picking at the edges of the cover, unsure of what to do.

“I didn’t think Robin should have continued past me, it was never supposed to,” Dick confessed, making Jason’s heart sink. “But you’ve done good so far, I can’t begrudge that. I’m... glad it’s you who’s Robin.”

Jason’s head snapped up in surprise and the smile he found on Dick’s face punched the breath from his lungs. It wasn’t his usual lopsided smile. It was small, tender, and so painfully genuine.

He looked down at his lap, worried the moonlight wouldn’t hide the flush of his cheeks. "I’m glad I’m Robin too." He didn’t say thank you, even though he wanted to. Didn’t say that being Robin made him feel magical, untouchable. That it was the reason he wasn’t alone on the streets anymore. That it allowed him to meet his hero, meet _him_. The words all died on his tongue and he choked on the letters as they tumbled back down his throat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 4 isn't finished yet so there will be a brief break in updates!


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love [Ico](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Icosagens) so much, they're amazing and were a great help with this chapter.

Jason had never liked the cold. Winter in Gotham was frigid and miserable, dangerous without proper shelter, without proper clothing. When it snowed, it was only even a dirty slush that seeped through his shoes and robbed his feet of the memory of warmth until hours later, wrapped up in flimsy blankets. Life was hard enough on the streets _without_ the bitter cold.

Enjoying winter was a luxury, a thing for people who could retreat back to heated homes, who could bundle under clothes and blankets that actually held warmth.

It didn’t really surprise Jason that rich people would willingly waste money on bizarre things like ski resorts. Spend inordinate amounts of money for the privilege of staying up in the mountains where the snow never truly melted just to enjoy it. To have _fun_.

No, it didn’t surprise him, but it did piss him off.

What surprised him was that Bruce actually did things like go on vacation and _relax._ Which was how he ended up hurtling down a hill at, quite frankly, a terrifying speed.

Sure, he was Robin: fearless Boy Wonder, but while barrelling down the icy slope he was simply Jason Todd: street rat, not made for the cold and the snow. And it was cold as _hell,_ the frozen air ripping straight through him all the way down. 

Bruce and Dick had spent the afternoon teaching him how to ski, Dick more so than Bruce. Jason hadn’t really expected Dick to care to waste a day of his vacation teaching him despite the fact that they were... tentatively friends? Jason wasn’t sure exactly _what_ they were, just that he liked spending time with the older boy.

It made him weirdly nervous to think maybe Dick liked spending time with him too.

Bruce had vanished at some point, judging Dick an adequate instructor, to throw himself down more ambitious slopes, which was a bit of a relief. While Dick hadn’t fought with Bruce yet, Jason couldn’t shake the feeling that one was coming. He had spent too long knowing the fights were inevitable to be able to believe otherwise.

Dick was encouraging—almost annoyingly so—and patient as he showed Jason the ropes. He’d watch Jason start to slide down first before following behind, laughing and whooping in joy the whole way down. If Jason hadn’t known better, he could almost think Dick was always this carefree and happy.

If Jason hadn’t known better, he could almost believe they were two normal teenagers on vacation.

Perhaps that’s what they were, just for this one week. Normal people, doing... well, mostly normal things. Jason didn’t think most people went to the Swiss Alps for vacation or stayed in a _chalet,_ of all things. But they were laughing and relaxing and having _fun_. Fun that didn’t even include beating people up! Those were things normal people did, and they were anything but normal.

Finally having enough of skiing, they made their way back until they found themselves standing in the snow in front of an infuriatingly large chalet. _Their_ chalet to be exact, because of course Bruce owned a chalet in the Alps.

Jason stood there, hesitating slightly. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to get out of the cold, he very much did, but going inside meant... going inside. Living in the manor was bad enough as it was, this—a chalet—wasn’t what he signed up for.

None of this was what he’d signed up for.

But there he was, standing in the snow wrapped up in a thick warm coat and wearing _proper_ boots. Boots that hadn’t let the snow soak through, that actually kept him warm despite how long they’d been out. He wiggled his toes and smothered his pleased smile under his soft—wonderfully toasty—scarf. Jason was grateful for all of it, he really was. He just couldn’t wrap his head around it even after living with Bruce for over a year.

“Why did we have to go somewhere cold?” he complained to Dick, voice muffled within his scarf.

“Oh come on, who doesn’t love a little snow?”

“I don’t.”

Dick gave him a look of mock offense, “Say it ain’t so, Little Wing!”

“It _is_ so.”

“Well I’m going to fix that, just you wait.” The older boy nodded resolutely.

Jason groaned and started stomping towards the chalet. Well, tried to stomp, the snow hindered his movements and completely ruined the effect. Before he’d even made it to the door, something wet smacked him in the back.

“Did you just throw a snowball at me, Dickface?” Jason asked incredulously, turning to face the older boy who stood a few feet away attempting to look the picture of innocence.

“No?” Dick managed to say, before bursting into giggles. Actual, honest to god, _giggles._

Jason rolled his eyes.

“Oh, it’s so on!” He shouted as he scooped up snow and prepared to attack.

Five inches of snow made the whole thing clumsy, Jason was unused to snow in the first place but even Dick’s usual liquid grace was hindered by it. They awkwardly stomped around, attempting to duck and twist out of the way as snowballs flew through the air with an accuracy that would’ve made Batman proud, laughter and taunts echoing against the crisp snow as they waged their war.

By the time the cold seeped through Jason’s gloves, the rest of him is warm—almost overly so—from the exertion. Both of them were breathing heavily, the cold air sharp in their lungs.

The fight ended with an unfortunate snowball nailing Dick right in the face. Jason’s mouth flew open to apologize when, without missing a beat, Dick fell dramatically down into the snow.

“Oh no!” Dick gloved hands clutched his chest, “You’ve bested me!”

After a moment, he began flailing around, making a snow angel as Jason looked down at him, unimpressed. With a serious expression, he informed Jason, “I’m an angel now.”

And promptly dissolved into laughter.

Jason couldn’t stop the snort that fell out of him as he offered Dick a hand up. “Come on, _angel,_ let’s go in before I die of hypothermia and join you.”

Dick pouted as he took Jason’s hand and clambered to his feet, “You’re no fun, Little Wing.”

“And yet, you’re the one hanging out with boring ol’ me.”

“And yet, I am,” he conceded easily.

They waded through the snow to finally seek refuge in the chalet, all of Jason’s previous reservations forgotten. It was warm inside, the fire Alfred had going making the place deceptively cozy but a place this big couldn’t achieve coziness, not _really._

The aforementioned butler was standing in the front room, as if he’d been awaiting them. Honestly, he probably had been and as much as Jason loved Alfred that would never not make him just a little bit uncomfortable.

“Welcome back, young sirs,” Alfred greeted them, prim as ever. “I trust you enjoyed your activities?”

“Hey, Alfie!” Dick greeted back, giving the older man a smile so warm it would have melted any ice still clinging to Jason’s bones if only it had been directed at him. “We did!”

What did he care if Dick smiled at him like that or not? Jason shed the thought along with his scarf and coat. “Who said I enjoyed anything?”

“I just did, obviously.”

“Oh, how silly of me to ask.” Jason punched Dick’s shoulder before turning to give Alfred a small smile. “Yeah, we had fun.”

“Perhaps you’d both enjoy something to warm yourselves up?”

“Like some of your famous hot cocoa?” Dick asked hopefully.

“If you wish.”

“I very much do wish,” Dick nodded, before remembering his manners. “Please.”

“Sounds good, need any help making it?” Jason asked— _needed_ to ask—still unwilling to let someone take care of him without at least offering his help.

“While the offer is appreciated, Master Jason, I am not so old and frail that I require a hand to make two cups of cocoa.”

Dick sniggered as he flopped upside down onto a couch near the fire, feet left dangling over the back, head tilted off the edge of the seat. It was almost endearing how he always managed to sit as if he’d never seen a chair used before, not that Jason would ever admit it.

Alfred eyed the older boy critically but made no comment—a sign that even he had given up on fixing that particular habit long ago—before leaving to prepare their drinks.

Was Dick so unfazed by the extravagance of all of this that he could simply throw himself onto a couch which probably cost more than anything Jason had ever owned, in a chalet bigger than even some apartment buildings in East End? Had he simply gotten used to it that he no longer cared? Had he ever cared?

Jason wasn’t sure he could ever get used to _any_ of this.

“Do you actually like places like this?” The words came out more judgmental than he had intended them to as he curled up in an armchair near the fire, but he couldn’t really help it.

“Places like this?”

“Large, expensive, just... all of it.”

Dick looked up at Jason thoughtfully, kicking his feet slightly as he considered his answer before giving Jason a little frown. “Honestly? Not really.” He shrugged, a movement made awkward by his position, “I got a little used to it, I guess, but it’s still uncomfortable if I think about it. I take it you don’t?”

“It’s so wasteful,” Jason admitted, “Makes me feel guilty.”

Dick hummed in agreement before finding his words, “We didn’t—I never knew anything like this when I lived in the circus. I guess a part of me thought that everyone lived with just enough to be comfortable and when someone didn’t, everyone shared with each other and helped out. No one went without at the circus. It was... disorienting, when Bruce took me in, to see that some people were unable to feed their families while their neighbors lived in excess without a care over it.”

Jason knew exactly how disorienting it had to have been, his own experience somewhat similar. “Even before I lived on the streets we struggled, had next to nothing. Then my parents—Then everything happened, and I had even less. I was alone on the streets, without food, without a home. I never imagined I’d experience anything like this, that I’d _have_ anything like this.”

“I can’t ever understand what that must have been like, I’m sorry,” Dick said softly, and the earnestness of it cracked Jason’s chest wide open. He wrapped his arms tightly around his rib cage in an attempt to hold himself in, to stop his guts from spilling out onto the expensive rug that covered the floor.

“It’s—it’s whatever. Don’t worry about it.”

Alfred chose that moment to make his reappearance and Jason couldn’t thank his impeccable timing enough for saving him from continuing the conversation. Passing Jason a mug he said, “Here you are, young sirs.”

Dick threw his legs up and over, performing a little flip to stand and eagerly took the second mug from the butler. “Thanks, Alfred!” Dick said, and Jason echoed his own thanks as the butler took his leave.

Settling back into the couch upright with his legs tucked under him, Dick glanced at Jason, “Still dislike snow, Jace?”

“It’s not so bad, still fuckin’ cold though.”

“That’s what the cocoa is for,” the older boy said with a grin, lifting his mug closer to his lips and breathing in the vapours. “Maybe tomorrow we should make a snowman.”

“Maybe we shouldn’t.

“A snowbatman, then?”

Jason gave him a bland look. “No.”

“Oh, I know!” He exclaimed, eyes glittering as he smiled brightly, “A snowrobin!”

With a long suffering sigh, Jason relented, “ _Maybe._ If it will make you shut up.”

Jason was grateful for all of this, for having a full belly and warm clothes and a roof over his head. Grateful for moments like these, where life had seemed easier and a little more carefree. His past couldn’t be changed, the damage had already been done, but this, right here, made it all almost seem worth it.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, uh shit I didn't mean to post this right now but... enjoy!
> 
> Just a heads up that a racial slur is used once this chapter, but it's addressed.

In an overly extravagant ballroom, Jason contemplated the intricate floral pattern of the marble floor as people walked past his current hiding spot. He wondered how it was made, his eyes tracing along every swirl as if trying to memorize it. It was better than the alternative, tracing every line of Dick Grayson in a tuxedo and trying to memorize _that._

It was unfair how good he looked on a normal day, but in a suit? He looked unreal.

From the corner of his eye he could see Dick as he stood with a group of older men and women surrounding him, all of them dying to talk to the perfect Wayne heir. Jason almost envied how well he could play a crowd, how easy he made it look. He gave wide smiles to everyone who spoke to him, and Jason studied the way they were different from his real smiles—he was getting better at differentiating them. Suddenly, there _was_ a real smile. For a brief second Jason wondered who it was for until he realized it was for him.

_Shit._ So much for subtlety, now Dick was making his way over.

His normally mussed hair was combed and slicked neatly back. It made him look the part of a Gotham elite, vapid and pretentious—the complete opposite of who he really was. His outfit at least felt a little bit more like him, more relaxed somehow. His bow tie slightly crooked, jacket unbuttoned. The tux was a deep navy blue contrasting with his golden skin and it made his eyes shine even from across the room. It followed the lines of his lithe body perfectly.

Somehow, Dick’s smile got brighter as he approached. “Jay! Fancy seeing you here.”

“I’m pretty sure that’s my line, Dickie.” He smiled back, telling himself it was only because Dick’s real smiles had a habit of being infectious. “Lately I’ve been to more of these than you have.” He wanted to say he missed him, that it’s been awhile since he last visited. He bit the words back instead, unsure if they’d be welcome.

“Yeah, I know.” For a second Dick looked almost tired before his face smoothed back into a soft smile. “I figured it was about time I came back to have some fun at a gala.”

Jason raised an eyebrow. “Fun? At a _gala?_ I’m not sure we’re at the same party, if you’re having fun.”

“Oh come on, you’re telling me you don’t love having your cheeks pinched by rich people while they politely belittle you?” he joked as he plopped down onto the plush bench next to Jason.

Dodging out of the way of Dick’s hand as it tried to pinch his cheek, Jason glared at him. “You’re right, something must be wrong with me if I don’t enjoy that.”

“I almost didn’t see you hiding over here.” Dick chuckled as he ruffled Jason's dark curls instead, earning himself a huff of annoyance. “I thought you’d want to hang out with me.”

“Someone thinks highly of themselves.” He rolled his eyes but with a sigh admitted, “I don’t know if you noticed, but you’ve had people circling around you like vultures all night. Kinda scares a guy off.”

“But they’re so _boring,_ Jay,” Dick groaned. “I was hoping you’d save me from them.”

With the most dramatic put upon sigh he could muster, “Alright, _fine._ I’ll save you from the evil rich people.”

“Great! Come dance with me then!” Dick hopped off the bench, grabbed Jason’s hand to tug him away.

“Wait, what? _No!_ ” He glanced towards where Dick was still holding his hand before snatching it back. No one ever taught him how to dance, and even if he did know how, dancing in a ballroom full of Gotham’s most influential people is more than intimidating. Sure, he fights super villains with Batman every night but rich people are _ruthless._ “I just meant I’d talk with you. Go dance with Barbara or something.”

“Babs isn’t here tonight and I want to dance with you! Come on, Little Wing, please?”

Jason tried not to read into that. “Tough luck, I don’t know how to dance.”

“Then I’ll teach you! It’ll be fun, way better than being stuck talking to these people.”

Before he even had a chance to say no again, some older man called out to Dick, drawing his attention away. A flash of grimace on Dick’s face quickly morphed into a wide— _fake—_ smile as the man made his way over. Jason studied the newcomer, torn between annoyance at the intrusion and relief for the distraction. Old money judging from his understated appearance, clearly feeling no need to flaunt his wealth. People with old money talked less business but that didn’t make their conversation any more interesting. In the end, old and new money all vied for the attention of Bruce Wayne and they all hoped his _orphans_ would put in a good word for them.

The man was asking Dick where he’d been, a hint of disapproval in his voice. As if these galas were the most important thing in the world, never to be missed.

Not quite lying, Dick replied that he’d been traveling, mentioning how he missed touring around Europe with the circus, not having been back much since. Jason made a mental note to ask about what that was like, later when they were alone. Dick hadn’t told him much about his life in the circus, only mentioning it a few times. When he told a story he had a penchant for acting them out and making up voices for added effect that never failed to make Jason smile just a little. He sometimes wondered if that was how Dick’s dad had told his stories too.

There was some further conversation about Europe Jason tuned out, returning to trace the floral pattern on the floor once more. He had agreed to help Dick avoid conversations exactly like this one but he didn’t want the topic to go back to dancing together. He wondered how much a floor like this even cost, it could probably feed every kid in East End for a few months, maybe longer. Knowing that made his stomach churn.

A strained laugh pulled Jason out of his thoughts and he glanced back up, wondering what caused it.

The conversation had turned to the older man reminiscing about what it was like when Dick first started attending galas. He spoke of how Dick’s accent had been so thick no one could understand him back then. A _real_ education had clearly done him well, he could talk properly now. It truly was impressive how far a _gypsy_ like him could come with a civilized upbringing. Wasn’t he so thankful for Bruce taking a chance on him? Why, almost no one feared he’d make off with their valuables when they weren’t looking anymore. He was _proud_ of the man Dick was becoming.

As if he deserved to be proud of Dick at all.

The smile on Dick’s face was one Jason had never seen before, brittle and resigned. His eyes were vacant, devoid of anything that made him Dick Grayson.

It worried him and he hated the man for putting it there.

Jason wanted to punch the smug look off the asshole’s face, let him know exactly how fucking ignorant he was. Dick was a lot of things, a showman and a hero. A people pleaser up until the second you pissed him off, with a temper of a raging inferno. What Dick was _not_ was lesser than anyone because of his skin or upbringing.

The bench slid back slightly as he stood up suddenly, its legs making a jarring scraping sound against the marble. The commotion startled Dick back to himself and both he and the man turned to look at Jason in alarm. The malice in Jason's expression must have been clear because with a frown and a slight shake of his head Dick told him, _It’s not worth it._

It fucking would be worth it, but _fine._

He could play nice for Dick’s sake. If he couldn’t deck the asshole, he could at least give Dick an excuse to ditch the man. He could drag him somewhere else to hide but it would only be a matter of time until someone else tried to insert themselves into their conversation. Dick had already suggested the perfect out, as much as Jason hated it. No one would try to talk to them if they were dancing.

With his best fake smile, showing just a few too many teeth, Jason cut into the shocked silence, “Sorry but Dick promised to teach me to dance. Do you mind?” he said it like a threat. It _was_ a threat.

Jason didn’t wait for the man to respond before he began to pull Dick towards the dance floor. Behind them there was an indignant squawk, “Why, I never!”

“Jason! That was rude.” It was intended to be a reprimand but the surprised laughter that bubbled out of Dick undermined the words.

“No, _he_ was the rude one. He’s lucky I didn’t knock his lights out.”

“Thank you, Little Wing.” Dick’s voice was so soft it was a miracle Jason had even heard him over the chatter and music surrounding them. So soft it hurt to hear.

Jason stopped in his tracks and turned to look back at him. “Don’t.” He had known Gotham’s high society looked down on them both, but he hadn’t factored in the racism Dick had to deal with alongside that until now. “If I had just agreed to dance in the first place, you wouldn’t have had to hear all of that.”

“What? You can’t blame yourself, Jace.” Dick seemed more concerned with Jason’s feelings than his own and that just made Jason feel worse. “He didn’t say anything I hadn’t already heard before.”

“That’s the problem. You shouldn’t have to hear those things! They shouldn’t even be saying them!” It pissed Jason off that someone could feel so superior over another about something no one had any control over. It pissed him off that it didn’t piss _Dick_ off. Where was that famous Grayson temper? “You can’t try and tell me it doesn’t affect you, I _saw_ you. I don’t understand why you didn’t say anything.”

“I just—it wouldn’t have been worth it, that’s all.” Unwilling to elaborate further, Dick plastered an awkward— _fake_ —smile on his face and changed the subject, “Did you mean it, that you’d dance with me?”

Jason narrowed his eyes and frowned. “If you still want to.”

“I could teach you something boring... but I’d rather we had _some_ fun tonight.” Sapphire eyes sparkled mischievously and the smile became just a little more real, the change in his mood making Jason’s head spin. With a wiggle of his eyebrows Dick added, “I’ll even show you how to lead so you can woo all your potential suitors.”

Jason let out a snort at that, “I’m only doing this to cheer you up, Dickiebird. Please, try not to make me the laughing stock of high society.”

With elbows up, his right hand was placed under Dick’s left arm and his left hand clasped together with Dick’s right. Butterflies rioted in Jason’s stomach and refused to settle down. He was holding Dick’s hand, _dancing_ with him. It was more intimate than he had expected. The rogues gallery could eat their hearts out, he’d never been this nervous in his entire life.

The dance was turning out to be more involved than he had hoped for as they moved through the steps. He didn’t see why couldn’t they just have done a simple box step or something. When he vocalized that complaint, Dick laughed.

“Simple isn’t _fun_ , Little Wing.”

When he was finally comfortable enough to tear his gaze away from their feet, Jason belatedly realized just how close they were to each other. He could feel the rough calluses of the hand holding his own, feel the heat radiating off of the body so near to him. He could smell the earthy scent of Dick’s body wash, hear the quiet rumble of his voice as he hummed along to the music as they moved. This close, he could see the way Dick’s eyes glittered as he grinned— _real_ —down at him.

“Penny for your thoughts?”

_Shit._ “Um—” Jason desperately grappled for something to say that wasn’t how perfect he thought Dick was. “This dancing thing isn’t all that terrible, I guess.”

“See, I told you it’d be fun!”

"I didn't say it was fun, just that it wasn’t terrible.”

Dick shook his head and chuckled, “Well, I consider that a glowing review coming from you.”

“Who even taught you how to dance like this? Alfred?” He tried to imagine Bruce teaching anyone how to ballroom dance and bit back a laugh. The man genuinely didn’t know how to deal with physical contact outside of combat.

“My parents, actually. Some nights after a show everyone would gather around the fire to play music and dance,” Dick admitted with a wistful smile. “I used to love watching the two of them dance together, so I begged them to teach me.”

“Did you teach Babs this too?” The question spilled out before Jason could think better of it. He cringed at how much he sounded like a jealous boyfriend.

“Nah, Alfred taught us both how to waltz, so we usually do that.” He shrugged, “Honestly? I haven’t done this dance since my parents died. It’s not a common dance, in Gotham at least.”

Jason’s brain short circuited. “Oh.”

He stumbled through the next few steps of the dance before recovering. This was important to Dick, something special. He hadn’t shared it with anyone but Jason. He couldn’t just keep staring wide-eyed, saying nothing. Jason blinked up at Dick and tried again, “I mean... thanks, for teaching me. Why teach _me_?”

“You tried to defend me, got me out of that conversation. I just—I appreciated that.” He gave Jason a crooked smile, “Besides, it’s a fitting dance for you, I think. Passionate, a little bit aggressive.”

“I’m not passionate.” Jason looked away, embarrassed. Passionate meant he cared too much. Caring about anything was a risk on the streets, was still a risk now. Feelings left you open to pain, strong feelings left you open to devastation. He attempted to hide the things he cared about away, act like they were nothing but sometimes he could get so caught up he’d forget. Crawling back into his armor of bravado he grumbled, “I’m still in favour of punching, if yelling at assholes like him isn’t on the table.”

“See?” Dick beamed at him, “What you care about, you _care_ about and you’ll fight for it. It’s not a bad thing.”

Jason scowled, not wanting to think about how much he was beginning to care for the older boy, how Dick was more than just a friend or a mentor to him. So, he gracelessly changed the subject, “Your hair looks dumb like that, by the way.”

Dick laughed, unfazed, “It really does, doesn’t it? Alfred always makes me do it, I’m surprised you escaped the same fate.”

“He loves me more than you, obviously.”

Maybe he couldn’t admit how much he liked Dick, but he liked _this._ Liked the way it felt like it was just the two of them, suspended in time. Liked their casual conversation and their closeness.

Liked the way their shoes clicked along the marble floor as they danced.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I probably won't update this again 'til November, so see you then <3


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's [Elw's](https://archiveofourown.org/users/elwon) birthday today! go read her fics and tell her how amazing she is!

It started with a phone call, a message left to be heard later.

"Hey, you've reached Dick Grayson! I’m probably off saving the world or something exciting like that, leave a message and I'll get right back to you!"

It was an annoyingly chipper message delivered in Dick's trademark joking tone and Jason wondered how many civilians knew his number, if they heard it and missed just how true the words actually were.

“Hey Dickie... I bet you thought I lost your number but nah, I just like to keep you on your toes."

The numbers had spun around in Jason's head on days he'd missed the older boy, on days where everything seemed too much. They were an itch on the tips of fingers that always hovered over the call button but never pressed down.

Calling felt like it meant something, implied something. Like Dick would suddenly see straight through him if he ever heard Jason's tinny voice on the other end of the line.

"I—I found out I have a mom, another mom. A biological mom. She’s still alive and I’m gonna find her. I’m... I just wanted to let you know, you said you’d be there for me if I ever needed you. Not that I—um, _need_ you."

 _Idiot_. He was such an idiot. He hadn't known what he wanted to say so there he was, spilling his guts between stammered words instead.

"Look just… don’t tell Bruce, okay? He… he doesn't trust me right now. _If_ he ever did. Something bad happened. It wasn't my fault. But sometimes he looks at me like it was."

The looks made him feel like he was an insect under a magnifying glass on a sunny day. Then, Bruce benched him and Jason finally caught fire.

"I just. I don't know, it doesn't matter. I'll see you after I find my mom.

"Oh, uh. This is Jason, by the way.”

It had been dumb to call, pointless even. Maybe Dick had forgotten he’d ever given Jason his number, maybe he hadn’t actually expected it to be used. He’d just wanted to hear Dick’s voice, find some form of reassurance and support within it.

He thought later—as he bled out onto the floor of a warehouse—that his last words to Dick should have been something better than that, more profound. Maybe he should have confessed but he hadn't known it was his last chance to.

It ended with him choking on smoke.

Or maybe it started with a woman bruised and crying on a bed that threatened to swallow her whole. Maybe it ended with six people dead and a disapproving frown.

It hadn’t been his fault, not really. Bruce had looked so disappointed in him regardless. It filled him with shame, with frustration. The man had _hurt_ her and then he fell. Revenge was sought and when it was all said and done there had been so many unnecessary deaths. They could've all been prevented if only they'd stopped the man sooner.

It hadn’t been his fault.

But that’s not actually where it started and that’s not where it ended either.

No. It started with a boy stealing the tires off a car and it didn't end, not really. There was no full stop, no period, no loose ends tied up into a pretty bow. That would have been too easy.

There was only a semicolon, an intermission.

_We’ll be right back after this quick commercial break._

It resumed in a blur: a coffin six feet deep on a stormy night, a cold and uncomfortable hospital room, a familiar alleyway on the wrong side of town. It continued in a pit of burning green with an anger that burned even hotter within his chest.

“You remain unavenged.”

It continued with a plan, with the need to be loved, to be validated.

He knew now the importance of a good plan and he'd prepared this one meticulously. No more impatient risks. No, this had to go exactly right.

It was a perfect plan, he thought.

It failed anyway.

Jason hadn't planned for _that_ possibility. Everything had hinged on that one plan and that was his mistake.

He just kept making mistakes.

And that was just inevitable, wasn't it? What was his life, but a series of mistakes? A series of beginnings without end. A trainwreck in slow-motion—in life, in death, in life again.

The plan fell apart and Jason realized he'd always be left behind, always replaced, always second best runner up.

So he wasn’t loved, wasn't wanted. _Fine_. He didn't need anyone.

It continued with Dick fucking Grayson not getting the memo.

That man, that infuriating man who Jason had once loved—now hated—just didn't know when to quit. He kept trailing after Jason like a bad penny, some goddamn ghost haunting him with awkward smiles and bullshit pleas for friendship.

“I miss you, Little Wing.” Dick’s words were laced with so much sadness, all of it fake. “I don’t want to fight you.”

He coated his own in acid. “You don’t get to call me that, not anymore.”

Fists connected with flesh and _there,_ that was the true Dick Grayson spitting the blood out of his mouth as he lunged toward Jason. _I don’t want to fight you,_ he said over and over like a prayer but he still punched back just as hard.

Dick was many things and a liar was one of them.

Because Jason knew the truth. Dick hadn't answered the phone, he’d heard the message, heard it all and still did nothing. Dick hadn't gone to his funeral, hadn't mourned him. How could he claim to miss Jason when he hadn’t ever cared in the first place?

Jason didn't need anyone. He’d keep kicking and snarling because what else did he know how to do anymore?

It continued with a message left on his phone, heard and deleted.

“Hey, It’s Dick. Look, I know you don’t want to talk to me. Hell, I don’t even know if you’ll ever get this message, it took me forever to find this number, but I just need to say this. I understand you’re angry... or I’m trying to, at least.

“I really did miss you, I _do_ miss you. We were friends, weren’t we? You meant something to me. I thought—It doesn’t matter what I thought.”

There was a pause, a hesitant, shuddering breath.

“I still have your message, you know. I listened to it for the longest time, wishing I could have answered, could have helped.

“Talk to me, Little Wing. Come home.”


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Surprise! 
> 
> Thank you to the lovely [Ak](https://archiveofourown.org/users/RUNNFROMTHEAK) for helping me figure out what this chapter was supposed to be. Your support meant a lot to me <3

Slowly blinking awake, Jason’s eyelashes brushed against the lenses of his mask. He blearily stared up at the ceiling—white spackled and wholly unfamiliar—as it stared back down at him, unforgivingly bright. Sound from across the room clattered overly loud within his skull and he grimaced before realizing the sound meant he wasn’t alone.

There was someone else with him, searching for something and Jason looked for his memories within the haze of his mind.

His helmet had broken during a fight—shattered under the force of a particularly brutal swing of a hammer—but nothing in his memories told him how exactly he’d gotten here or who he was with. All he knew was that he laid shirtless on a bed, feeling increasingly vulnerable.

There wasn’t a single person in Gotham he trusted to see him like this.

Maybe there wasn’t a single person he trusted, full stop.

He checked the extent of his injuries with the subtle flexing his muscles, biting back a hiss as a few movements stung, pulling at various cuts and burns. Despite that, the worst of it seemed to be the persistent throb of his head.

The sounds moved closer to where he laid as the person kept their footsteps deliberately audible—something that only served to put Jason more on edge. It meant they were someone skilled enough to not make noise but knew well enough to do so anyway.

There was a quiet thud as they placed something on a table near the bed before leaning over him and into view. He hadn’t been sure who he dreaded seeing most but as he stared up at a maskless Nightwing he found himself thinking that literally anyone would have been just a little bit better than this.

Whatever _this_ was.

Dick hesitated, hovering over him as he assessed Jason’s wounds with a tight frown on his face, looking like some sort of judgmental guardian angel. Tanned and calloused hands hung gracelessly in the air between them, fingers twitching in some approximation of anxiety.

It was an Oscar worthy performance, honestly.

He hated every second of it.

Dick leaned closer, face clad in a near flawless mask of worry, seemingly so focused on Jason’s wounds that he missed any sign Jason had been awake. It was a mistake Jason decided to capitalize on.

The satisfying crunch of bone was drowned out by the way the blow resounded within his skull, pulsing nauseatingly. The self-deprecating part of himself thought it sounded vaguely like applause.

“ _Fuck!_ ” Dick shouted, hand flying to his face. “What the hell, Jason!”

It was possible a headbutt while he had a concussion hadn’t the best idea but the surprised outrage _almost_ made the pain worth it.

“Howdy, Dickie,” he gritted out as he swung his legs over the edge of the bed, sitting up fully. The room spun and he stilled, trying not to let it show. “Care to tell me what happened?”

“What, that you just broke my nose? Or that I found you out cold from an explosion by the docks?”

“The second bit is more useful but can’t say I hate knowing I broke that perfect little nose of yours.” Jason grinned best he could through the pain, hoping it would come out as cutting as he intended.

“Aw, Little Wing,” Dick teased, wincing as he carefully prodded at his nose, "I didn’t know you liked my nose that much.”

Making his way to what Jason presumed was the bathroom, Dick never once turned his back. It was an impressive feat, the way he almost managed to make it look natural and it only served to irritate Jason further.

“You’re lucky I found you before the rest of Mask’s thugs did,” he called out from the other room, voice echoing faintly against the tile.

“Oh yeah, real lucky to be saved by the great and _wonderful_ Nightwing.”

“Are you alright?” Dick asked, ignoring the jab and letting out a quiet hiss as he set his nose. “You had me worried, Jace.”

“I’m just dandy.” Which wasn’t fully true—he definitely had a concussion—but he figured if Dick could lie, so could he. “I don’t need your concern.”

“I just—” Dick started as he walked back into view, wiping the remnants of blood from his face. A mask of resignation slid into place over the lingering grimace of pain before he continued, “No, you’re right. You don’t.”

Jason could almost believe it when the other man’s shoulders slumped slightly, almost pretend the sadness he found in those sapphire eyes was genuine.

And _that_ —that right there—was the whole damn problem.

Dick _fucking_ Grayson, ladies and gentlemen! The Golden Boy, showstopper extraordinaire. Everything he did was an act, everyone he met was his audience and they all watched in awe as he flipped and spun his way straight into their hearts.

It was all a lie, Jason knew that better than anyone else.

“All the world’s a stage for you, isn’t it, Dickie?” he sneered, “Ever the performer.”

Dick recoiled at the words, brows furrowing. “I’m not performing.”

“Of course you are,” he replied easily, because it _was_ easy. Dick performed like he breathed air. “You never stop, do you? You forget that I _know_ you, Dickiebird, and I know you don’t care one bit.”

It was cute how Dick's face curled up into some semblance of hurt, like anything Jason could say would ever actually matter to him, as if anything Jason said was wrong.

The show must go on, apparently.

“No, Jay,” Dick's voice raised slightly, "you _knew me_."

“Yeah, I knew you! And then I _died!_ ” His head ached at the volume of his own voice, but it didn’t matter. He wanted to hit Dick—wanted to see whatever hid underneath all those masks—and he wanted nothing more to do with him, all at once. “But guess what! Just because I died doesn’t mean I stopped knowing how full of shit you are!”

Jason watched as frustration overtook Dick’s previous mask, reveling in how it was the most real thing he’d seen out of the older man all night. Frustration always grew into that inevitable temper, and that was the only thing Jason ever truly trusted.

“What’s it going to take for you to believe me again!”

Could he _ever_ believe Dick again?

Believing him—or Bruce—was an entirely foreign concept at that point. There was nothing that would make him trust them again, nothing that could make anything that'd happened better. Joker still lived, still ruined lives.

They didn’t avenge him.

And they never fucking would.

It was a novel idea though, appropriately spiteful and impossible. Dick would never do it and that made it the same as saying _nothing will make me believe you._

Rising to his feet he stalked toward Dick, crowding the older man who simply stood his ground, refusing—as always—to give even an inch. Dick had to tilt his head up to keep eye contact though and the knowledge of that filled Jason with an almost giddy sense of satisfaction.

“Kill Joker,” he said simply, watching how Dick flinched minutely at the words. Stepping away, Jason gave a dismissive wave of his hand as he added, “Which you’ll never do. So take the hint and _fuck off_.”

They stood there for a beat, simply staring at each other—caught once again in their perpetual stalemate. Dick wasn’t going fuck off, and Jason wasn’t going to give in.

Irritated, Jason broke the stand off in favour of glancing around the sparsely furnished safe house for his jacket. He spotted it laying haphazardly on the floor near the window. _Perfect._ Without another word he pushed past the other man, toward the jacket and freedom.

“I did.”

It was a whisper Jason just barely caught in time before it got drowned out by the slide of the window as it opened. He froze in place as the words ricocheted inside his skull, repeating and overlapping as they refused to make any sort of sense.

_I did._

_I did. I did. I did._

_I did._

Jason choked out a noise stuck somewhere between a laugh and a scoff as he turned back to face Dick, “What?” He’d heard wrong, misunderstood, or his concussion was _far_ worse than he’d thought.

“I already did,” Dick repeated more firmly, sounding almost accusatory. “I killed him. For _you._ ”

Jason managed to actually laugh this time, dry and humourless. “Bullshit.”

He watched Dick’s usual self assurance fall away as the older man began fidgeting. A half aborted attempt at pacing the room, the flex of his jaw.

“He taunted me,” Dick admitted, refusing to look at Jason. His fingers caught awkwardly in the tangles of his hair as he tried to run a hand through. “He talked about you. How he killed you. I just couldn’t—couldn’t take it anymore.”

“Last I checked he’s still prancing around, _Dickie._ ”

“I beat him to death with my bare hands”—an eerie laugh spilled from Dick’s lips—“and B brought him back.”

The words sounded broken and raw, striped down to nerve endings. And Jason—for the second time that night—almost, _almost_ , could believe them. He almost _wanted_ to believe them. If he’d thought the performance earlier was Oscar worthy, this one was one for the ages.

It was so fucking convincing and that made it so much worse.

He hated himself for the small spark of hope that lit within his chest despite it all but he hated Dick far more.

“God, you really just can’t stop lying can you! Why would I _ever_ believe that!” His tone turned biting as he snarled, “You’d _never_ go against dear ol’ dad’s morals.”

Dick glanced away and when he looked back up at Jason, a new mask adorned his face. It fit awkwardly, a carefully crafted neutrality that was slightly off kilter. “No. You’re right,” he admitted with a slight tilt of his head, “I wouldn’t.”

Rage boiled within Jason’s veins and before he fully realized it he’d lunged forward, toppling Dick over and pinning him down. There was no satisfaction to be found when his fist connected with Dick’s jaw but that didn’t stop him from throwing another punch anyway.

He wondered if it would hurt as much as Dick had just hurt him if he hit the older man right where his nose had already broken. Jason sincerely doubted it.

That didn’t stop him, either.

It took him a few punches to realize Dick wasn’t fighting back, wasn’t even defending himself. He simply laid there looking up at Jason with eyes that watered with pain, wearing nothing but blood and something dangerously close to devastation on his face.

Jason’s next punch connected with the floor, inches from its original mark.

He didn’t know what to do with that look. Didn’t know what to do with _any_ of it. The rage, the hurt, the confusion. How dare Dick lie to him about that? How dare Dick _look_ at him like that? He reeled back, head spinning except this time it was borne from a sudden realization.

It wasn’t a mask.

Jason _hated_ that it wasn’t a fucking mask.

He had to get out, get away. It was too much to deal with, too much he didn’t want to acknowledge just then. Scrambling to his feet, he grabbed his jacket and fled out the window without another word.

It wasn't until days later, as that goddamn night replayed in his head for the umpteenth time, that Jason stumbled upon a revelation that tilted his entire world on its axis. Dick _had_ lied. Just not about what he’d thought. It was with the mask the fit wrong, with the tiny tilt of his head, _that_ was the moment Dick had actually lied.

_You’re right, I wouldn’t._


	8. Chapter 8

"Fancy seeing you here, Hood!"

There was an echo of a familiar conversation that tangled with the greeting, a time when Jason had said _that's my line._ He could've followed in the echo's footsteps and traveled down memory lane but he wasn’t a boy with hearts in his eyes anymore and Dick couldn't hang the moon no matter how hard he tried.

So Jason didn’t grin back at the man who dangled upside-down from the fire escape above him. He didn’t spit out something biting either—didn’t really want to. Instead, he thought about lies and masks and swallowed down the frustration that rose in his throat.

He took a long drag of his cigarette and watched impassively as Dick flipped gracefully down to the roof where Jason sat. He’d think the acrobat was showing off—would have not too long ago—but he was slowly remembering who Dick actually was. He might be a performer but the performances were just another facet of him.

He didn’t know when he forgot. Probably sometime between misplaced betrayal and unforgiving anger.

“Slow night, isn’t it?” The question hung in the air unanswered and Dick’s smile wavered slightly as he added, “Quiet.”

It was a joke and it wasn’t.

Jason didn’t laugh, only watched the smile become more hollow and forced as the silence stretched further. Something close to guilt settled deep within him but cigarette smoke had replaced all the words in his throat and he no longer knew what to say.

The usual grace Dick carried faded into the same uncharacteristic hesitance he’d taken to displaying more and more often now as he stared back at Jason, still hoping for some form of a reply.

Silence became a gaping maw between them, one Jason had no idea how to cross and as Dick tapped his fingers against his thigh to some erratic beat it occurred to him that maybe Dick didn’t either.

They each broke eye contact, unable to watch it grow further as it threatened to consume them. Jason looked back down at the city laid out below him, at the cars and people passing by blissfully unaware of the tension brewing above them.

Briefly, he wished he could be among them.

“I should g—”

“Just sit down—”

They both started, two awkward and opposite concessions to whatever this was.

Dick took a faltering step forward before stilling again. “Can I?”

“Whatever.”

“...Alright.” He stood in place for a beat longer, searching for some kind of tell that revealed what Jason was actually thinking. Trying to find the catch that wasn’t there.

Jason exhaled another puff of smoke as he sighed, “Well?”

Catching Dick’s nod at the edge of his vision, he watched warily as the acrobat slowly settled down next to him, far enough away not to touch but still close enough to not be completely awkward.

It felt awkward anyway.

Dick fidgeted more as silence settled back over them and Jason sorted through the list of things he wanted to say and the list of things he _could_ say. He could continue pouring gas on the fire, watch as he burned down the bridge Dick kept trying to build once and for all.

What would that even take at this point?

No matter what he did the older man always seemed to bounce back and try, try, try again. Dick wouldn’t give up and as Jason thought about Joker being beaten to a pulp—of blue-black gloves painted red—he started to consider maybe he didn’t really want Dick to anymore.

“You lied.”

It was a heavy statement that shattered the silence with a certain finality, one he couldn’t put off voicing any longer.

“It's been said I lie about a lot of things,” Dick tried to quip, but his tone was all wrong and his fingers resumed their drumming, a near frantic beat now, “you’re going to have to be more specific.”

“About Joker.”

Jason turned his head and watched Dick closely, searching for a reaction, waiting to see what happened next. He didn’t know what exactly he wanted from Dick anymore, all he knew was that this was uncharted territory, a blank page in the new chapter of whatever they both were to each other. Would they remain something close to, but not quite, enemies? Go back to being strangers?

Could they rebuild what Jason had been so determined to raze to the ground?

Did he want them to?

“I thought that had been established. I already admitted that was a lie.” His head tilted, so subtle Jason would have missed it if he hadn’t been waiting for it.

“But it wasn’t a lie.”

“Does it matter if it wasn’t?” Dick frowned, movements stilling as he stared at the streets below, very carefully not looking at the man next to him. “It doesn’t change anything.”

 _It already has,_ Jason wanted to admit. He didn’t though, taking one final lungful of smoke to stall as he searched for a different answer—one significantly less revealing. He snuffed his cigarette on the ledge and settled on something vague, a non-answer of an answer. “Doesn’t it?”

“It doesn’t,” Dick repeated, sounding so damn convinced it was the absolute truth.

He supposed it was his fault Dick felt that way. For a while now, nothing Dick had said changed anything, because Jason hadn’t wanted it to. He hadn’t wanted this to change anything either but he couldn’t shake it, couldn’t unhear the words.

_I killed him. For you._

Once he knew they weren’t a lie they changed everything.

Dick wasn’t meant to be a killer, despite the fact that Jason had been wishing for him to be for months now, but he was one. Maybe killing someone shouldn’t have been the grand gesture of proof Jason needed to know that Dick had ever cared— _still cared_. Maybe it wouldn’t have been, if he was normal and unbroken. But it was.

Even if it didn’t stick—even if Joker was alive again—it was.

“I’m not punching you yet, am I?” he pointed out dryly.

Dick looked at him then, studying Jason carefully, “No, I guess not.”

“Don’t get me wrong, you’re still a dickface.”

“Yeah,” Dick murmured, “I know.”

There was a sadness to his voice Jason hadn't been expecting, his sarcasm accidentally jabbing at some unseen bruise. He'd only meant to deflect from the vulnerability they had been dangerously careening towards but as Jason took in the resignation that blanketed the older man, he realized that maybe remembering who Dick used to be wasn’t enough to understand him anymore.

It wasn’t like he hadn’t changed—he definitely wasn’t Jason Todd: fearless Boy Wonder anymore. Why wouldn’t Dick change after all these years too?

“I should get back to patrolling,” Dick said a little abruptly as he stood up, all fluid grace once again. With a tired but genuine smile he added, “I miss you, Little Wing.”

Jason could’ve told him to stay, could’ve said _maybe you don’t have to anymore_ but he only nodded instead. There was nothing else he could say or do—not there on that rooftop, not right then. His anger toward Dick might have burned out, but that didn’t fix everything.

Old hurts still ran deep, scraping them both raw.


End file.
